


The Lodge

by beaniebaneenie



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, M/M, Multi, all the NHL queer folks are friends ok, and they all stick together, everyone needs their tribe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-30 06:10:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15090683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaniebaneenie/pseuds/beaniebaneenie
Summary: Jack comes out. He... didn't exactly handle the press all that well.Kent has some Things To Say about it... and so do the rest of the LGBTQ folks in the NHL. The group chat is rather unimpressed with how Zimmermann handled both coming out and talking about it. At the end of every season, they all hang out at Mags' parents' house up in the Adirondacks, and this year, they have a few tag-along guests from the SMH team ranks. Including one Eric Bittle.... who attends without Jack Zimmermann, who was decidedly not invited.They all have some things to think about. And decisions to make about their futures.





	1. Getting out of Dodge

* * *

** Group Chat: The NHL Gays™ **

Warner: “I guess”?????? that’s the best zimmermann can come up with???????

Cherry: dude, you forgot the super enlightened “don’t be afraid”

Mags: jlz reads the ice fairly well, but he sure can’t read a room of reporters

Warner: or the minds of any lgbt kid waiting to hear what their hero is gonna say smh

 .....

Pasta08: mashkov have better answer, and he’s not even get asked question!

Pasta08: Tater is best obvs )))))

Zach: this just in, my boyfriend leaves me for another Russian D:

Pasta08: no, baby, I’m love you, never leave

SethR: seriously, don’t make us fine you for being gooey in here

Pasta08: sorry

Zach: sorry

 .....

Orlov: Mashkov answer well, good job Tater, you make me proud

Mashkov!: thank u everyone, so nice )))))))

Mashkov!: sad I’m have to give answer and not zimmboni, but someone have to say good thing

JamieJ: glad someone fucking spoke up though. It needed to be said. Wish it could have been me

JamieJ: I know why it can’t be though

Warner: we got your back, girl <3

Mags: definitely.

Cherry: we love you so much

JamieJ: thanks y’all :*

 .....

Riles: seriously tho- hockey’s fun, don’t be afraid? What kind of privileged, rich ass nonsense

Riles: I have to be misgendered 100 times a day and deal with my dysphoria

Riles: I’m not afraid binch I’m Annoyed

Cherry: preach sibling

Warner: ur valid hun

Riles: <3

 .....

SethR: anyone heard from Kenny today? Yasha, are you at the lodge yet? He there?

Orlov: Da, I’m here… Mags too, but Kenny is not

Mags: Warner is here, Cherry got in this morning. We haven’t seen Parse yet

Mags: last I heard, he’s still coming though?

JamieJ: he told me he was. My flight lands in like, 2 hours… one of y’all is still getting me at the airport, right?

Cherry: me me me

Cherry: text me when you land, I’ll be there

JamieJ: sweet

 .....

Zach: we’re all agreed tho- after this morning’s presser… Zimmermann does NOT get an invite to the chat?

SethR: yeah, I don’t really want him here if he’s going to show this little respect for the rest of us

Mags: same here. Or respect for the community

Riles: y’all know how I feel about it. #annoyed keep his ass away from me

Cherry: hard same broskis and siski and siblingki

JamieJ: you are a dorkward. But I love you

Cherry: <3 thanks fren

JamieJ: ok ew, I changed my mind haha

 .....

Mags: obviously I’ll defer to the group if you all feel differently… but I don’t really want him in my house either

Mags: the lodge is for us- and we should be able to relax there. Not to have to worry about the media shitstorm he’s bringing up

Orlov: no zimmermann in the lodge

Orlov: Mashkov, you have feelings about this either way? You’re closest to him

Mashkov!: I’m have feelings, but they bad ones. Don’t want zimmboni there either. Tbh I’m mad at him.

Mashkov!: this is such big thing, and he make it so small, make me feel shame for not being out

Riles: when we all get there, I’ve got a hug for you, tater tot

Cherry: me too

JamieJ: me too

SethR: cuddle pile on Tater, is what I’m hearing? And no zimmermann in the chat or the lodge

 .....

Zach: YO PARSER where you at on this?????

 .....

KennyVP: hey gang, sorry for going awol

KennyVP: was sleeping on the plane and playing with Kit

Mashkov!: princess kit coming to lodge??? )))))))) <3

KennyVP: yeah tater tot, she is

KennyVP: and yeah, I am 34738950% down with keeping zimmermann as far away from our oasis as possible

Riles: Kenny, can you still swing by Hartford and pick me up?

KennyVP: yeah babe, no worries. Got a big SUV, so we’ll be able to fit stuff. I flew into PVD though… got some Words™ to say to jack

Zach: yeah, stick it to zimmerdouche for me, will ya?

Pasta08: Zarushka

 .....

Cherry: FINE

Riles: FINE FINE FINE

JamieJ: FINE

Warner: yo dude nicknames in the groupchat are a fukcing fINE

 .....

Pasta08: pfft. Ok I buy three boxes of pastry from Tiana’s tomorrow :P

KennyVP: I love everyone in this bar

KennyVP: hey potatohead, is zimms home?

Mashkov!: not yet, we’re on way back now after presser

KennyVP: you guys gonna be there for a bit?

Mashkov!: yes, B promise pancakes, I’m excited! You have address for coming to yell at zimmboni?

KennyVP: text me privately, don’t wanna put the jerk on blast

Mashkov!: k.

Warner: Tater, are you coming to the lodge this year?

Mashkov!: will see how I’m feeling when Kenny is here. If still feeling good, will come! )))

 .....

* * *

Tater smiled as he shoveled in his second plate of pancakes. This morning had gone okay, though not as good as he’d wanted it to. Jack… well, Jack hadn’t exactly been good with the press. If Tater was being honest with himself, Jack had actually been pretty bad. At least his friends in the group chat were all of the same mind, and being supportive. And they’d liked what his own answer had been.

He smiled as he thought about his friends. His knee was hurting, true, but if he knew Kenny, he would have a few things from his herbalist mother to help. And just being around his friends (and Kenny) always made him feel better. Unless something tweaked his knee badly in the next half hour, he would go. Tater knew he needed the time at the lodge for more than just his physical health too… it would help get his head screwed on right for the summer, and help him get through the rest of the next season. Tater sighed happily, mopping up the last of the syrup on his plate, knowing that Kent had Jack’s address and would knock on the door any minute now.

As Jack’s friends – his friends now too – chatted and chirped with each other, and as Bitty worked away in the kitchen, Tater heard a loud knock on the front door and couldn’t help the smile that came to his face. Kenny.

“It’s open,” Jack called lazily, clearly thinking it was one of his teammates. A few minutes later, Jack nearly choked on his cider as Kent stood there, hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, and said calmly, “’Sup, everybody?”

The room was silent, except for Jack coughing. When Tater couldn’t stand it anymore, he smiled and gave a wave. “Hi Kenny.” He wanted to smile bigger, to jump up and crush Kent in a hug, but there were two things stopping him. One was of course, his knee brace. And the other was the dark rings of blue, purple, and red bruising around his right eye. A shiner… someone had hit Kent. Hard, it looked like. Tater could feel a low growl building in his chest at the thought that some piece of garbage had dared to touch Kent, to hurt him like that, and he started to rise out of his chair when he saw Kent shake his head slightly.

 _Not now_ , he meant. _Later_.

That was fine, if that’s what Kent wanted. Tater could wait. And he would find out who it was, and make sure they regretted the day they were born for hurting his friend.

“Parse,” Jack ground out, looking annoyed. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Everyone else seemed too stunned to know what to do. Tater bit his lip. He wasn’t sure how much of the Parson-Zimmermann history they knew, or what exactly Jack had or hadn’t told them.

For his part, Kent just shrugged. “Hi Kent, nice to see you. Haven’t seen you in over a year,” he said. “We were both dicks the last time we talked, but seeing as how you were my first best friend, we can get past it, right?” As he talked, his voice went from calm and collected to a harder version, edged with pain and anger. Tater knew that Kent was steel at his core, and it had been a while since Kent was hurting this badly… as much as he hated to see Kent hurt like this, privately, he thought it would be good for Jack to see what he did to people that he burned up and threw away.

“Parse-”

“What the fuck am I doing here?” Kent finished Jack’s question. “I saw your game,” he said. “Nice goal.”

Jack stared at him in stony silence.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Kent said. “Why would I fly across the country just to say that when I could have texted- oh right…. You told me to delete your number. So I did.”

“You didn’t come here just to say ‘good game’.”

“Of course I didn’t,” Kent’s voice was softer now. “The days when I would get on a cross country plane just because of you are long over, thanks for the reminder. Nope, came here for the teddy bear,” he said. “Hey, Potatohead.”

Kent walked over and bent down to ruffle his hair and kiss his cheek, which always made him blush. He liked when Kent did that… it was nice. Kent had never done more than that – not that he would ever object if Kent asked for more – but even these soft, chaste kisses were always nice.

“The scruff is a _good_ look, Tates. You should keep it.”

“You think?” he said, smiling bigger.

“Oh yeah. Definitely… your hotness quotient just went up like, a full ten points.”

“Hard agree.”

Tater’s attention snapped away from Kent’s face and back to the group, where Ransom looked like he was trying to melt into Jack’s couch, or at the very least achieve spontaneous combustion and poof out of existence.

“Thank you, Justin. Is nice to hear,” he said, hoping he wasn’t blushing too hard himself.

Jack cut through the nice moment, his words harsher than ever. “Tater, what the hell? You don’t have to take that from him.”

“Zimmboni, Kenny is my friend.”

“What the- since when?”

Kent answered, “Since the draft. Tater and I were drafted the same year. He got picked by Portland, but he was invited to the Aces prospect camp that summer. We hung out, traded numbers, and he fucking calls me back. Something you always seemed to be allergic to,” he said.

As Kent turned to the room at large, his shiner was visible to everyone, and it was Holster who gave a low whistle.

“Jeez, Parser… what broke your face?”

Kent’s eyes widened, then he broke into a wide grin. “Birker?”

Holster grinned. “In the flesh, how’re you doing, bro?” He stuck out a hand and Kent shook it.

Nursey hummed. “I know you guys met at Epikegster and that’s chill,” he said, “but why’re you calling him Birker?”

Kent smiled, shaking Nursey’s hand too. “Derek, right? Adam and I go way back… we were two of the only Jewish guys in the Q. He’s still in the Jewish players’ chat.”

Chowder spoke up. “There’s a whole chat just for Jewish guys? S’wawesome!”

Kent nodded. “Yeah, there’s one for the Jewish players. There’s probably one for the non-North American ones too, though for obvious reasons, I’m not in that lane, so I wouldn’t know. You probably will though,” he smiled, and Tater was glad to see that Chowder seemed beyond pleased at Kent’s implication that he would one day reach the NHL. Tater had seen Chris in goal before, and it was a thing of beauty. He agreed with Kent’s assessment.

Holster didn’t drop his question though, and Tater was glad. He also wanted to know who had hurt Kent.

“You can thank Zimms for this, actually.”

Everyone turned to stare at Jack.

“I haven’t _touched_ you in-”

“In over a year, yeah. I know,” Kent said, and the implication of those words hung over the room so much that even Bitty stopped whisking pancake batter all the way over in the kitchen, and the silence pressed on like a weight. “But you’re the one who decided to come out on live international television. Which all of my team was watching… and I know you were busy with your pathetic attempt at a press conference this morning, and with drinking as much as you could from the same cup you took a dump in, so you probably didn’t notice all the analysts and reporters bringing up the ‘rumours about our rumours’,” Kent said, making air quotes, which, for some reason, made Holster and Ransom both deflate a bit.

“What are you-”

“When you outed yourself, you also outed me, asshole,” Kent said. Tater could feel Kent’s hand gripping the back of his chair to help him stand, and ached to be able to take it in his, to help Kenny stand, to support him… but he knew that Kent wouldn’t thank him for it right now. This was something Kent needed to say to Jack, and he needed to do it on his own. Tater could respect that, so he sat there, making sure that he listened to every word. Later, up at the lodge, Kent might need someone to help him remember things, and to fight against his brain’s false recollections. Tater could do that.

Kent smiled, but there was no mirth in it. “I’m super queer, everyone. My hella homophobic teammates all know now, and I’m betting that someone has already leaked it- I dunno, I haven’t checked social yet, so hey. But you all might as well know now too.”

Almost as if he were on autopilot, Shitty said quietly, “Thanks for trusting us with that.”

Kent’s eyes widened, ever so slightly, but he kept himself in check. “I _did_ trust Jack with that… and he just _threw it in my face_.” Kent looked at him. “Did you think about that? Did you think about me, or what connections people might make because we were really stupid and careless when we were in juniors?”

Tater could see the various stages of confusion and understanding around the room, though he was unsurprised to note that Bitty did not seem surprised by this revelation.

Kent pointed at the bruise on his face. “Thanks for outing me to my entire homophobic team… I wasn’t afraid of Carl, but he punched me anyway. You uh, got some Bravery around here for the bruise? Whole Foods was all out of arnica gel.”

If the silence had been a weight before, it was like a pressure chamber now. Tater could have sworn he heard the clock ticking. It was a full two minutes before anyone spoke.

Bitty’s voice was shaking. “Y-you- um. Your- your teammate did that to you?” He had two pink spots high on his cheeks, and bit his lip as he hugged the bowl of pancake batter to his chest.

Kent looked over. “Yeah. Though, Carl’s never exactly been what you might call a teammate. He wears the same colors I do, that’s about it.”

Privately making plans to smash Jared Carlson into the boards next season, Tater looked around the room, soothed a bit to notice that everyone looked like they understood the severity of what Jack had done by outing Kent. Well, everyone except Jack himself.

“You’re his captain,” Jack spat out. “Just-”

Kent laughed. “What the hell am I supposed to do, Zimms? Tell him to skate suicides? Yell at him? Complain to the coach because he hit me? News flash, this isn’t college, he wasn’t the only one who took a fucking swing! And most of the team is bigger than me. I was barely holding onto the authority I had, but I can kiss that fucking goodbye. You’re further up in your shiny liberal education ass than I thought if you think I can go back there like nothing happened. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but not every team is as kum-ba-yah about LGBT issues as the Falcs.” He ran a hand through his hair. “The coaching staff is probably going to be about as welcoming as Carl, actually.”

“Can’t you say something?” Ransom asked quietly. He looked genuinely concerned.

“To who?” Kent said. “This isn’t college, it’s the NHL. No one gives a shit about you personally… there’s always the next guy in line. At least in that respect, the Falcs are like everyone else.”

Jack stood angrily. “George cares about me! The Falcs are-”

“I swear to Adonai himself, Jack, if you say, ‘like family’, I will throw something. You are _kidding yourself_ if you think they care about you beyond what you bring to their ticket sales and branding. A couple people might like you, sure… but after your shit-ass responses in the press conference this morning? I’d bet all that goodwill dried up faster than grapes in the desert.” He shook his head. “Your team had to do all the heavy lifting, Jack. You decided you spoke for them- even though some of them have been in the league for over a damn decade. And then your grand piece of advice for all the kids out there looking to you? ‘Don’t be afraid’? Ha, and you couldn’t even leave it at that, you had to tack on that, ‘I guess’, like- Jesus fuck, Zimms.” Kent’s fight all seemed to go out of him, like the last puff of air in a deflating balloon. “You probably don’t even see how much you let people down with that. I-” Kent’s voice broke, and Tater was close enough to see the tears welling in his eyes. “I just- I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t _be_ here anymore.” Kent wiped at his eyes. “You uh… you still comin’, potatohead?”

Tater nodded, reaching for his crutches and smiling, putting a hand on Kent’s shoulder. It was all he could do right now, but he would make sure to give Kent cuddles later. They would both need them.

“Where you headed, Parse?” Holster’s voice was as soft and concerned as Ransom’s.

The question shook Kent out of his momentary melancholy. “Oh, one of my buddies- like, one of four guys on my team who will still talk to me, anyway – his family has a house upstate… I’m headed there with a bunch of guys around the league. We have a get-together at the end of every season for a while.”

Holster smiled. “Anyone I know?”

Tater grinned. “Yes! Some from Jewish chat,” he said. After all, he was in that too. “Pasta, Yasha,” he said, counting his fellow Russians first. “Marsher and Warner… Cap too, yes?”

Kent nodded. “Yeah, Seth said he was coming. And me and Tates, obvs.” He pulled out his phone. “Jeez, the chat’s been blowing the fuck up. Yeah yeah, losers, we’re coming. Actually,” he looked up from his phone. “Birks, there’s two kitchens up at the lodge… one of which is fully kashered. You uh… you wanna come along? Half the guys know you anyway. And Yasha’s bringing his mom’s matzo.”

Tater grinned. “Pasta say he will make challah too.”

Holster grinned and pumped the air. “FUCK YES do I want to come. Been way too long since I had some good Jewish mom’s cooking.” He was up and had grabbed his bag in under two minutes.

Ransom smiled and took Holster’s offered hand. “Have some challah for me, babe.”

Kent glanced back and forth between them. Holster nodded. “Yeah,” he said, answering the unspoken question. “We’re together.”

Tater ignored the soft flurries of noise and revelations across the room in favor of catching Kent’s eye, who nodded. “Justin, you want to come too? Is room in car, right Kenny?”

“Yeah man, I’ve got a big rental. If you wanna come too, just say the word. We’re stopping in Hartford to pick up Riles, but we’ve still got a couple seats.”

“Uh, let’s see,” Rans said, jumping up to get his own things. “Do I wanna come hang out with a bunch of cool dudes, one of whom is my favorite player?” He looked at Tater. “Hells yes!”

Kent chuckled. “All right then, let’s bounce. It’s been real, y’all,” he said to the room at large. “Enjoy yourselves before the media sharks come a’callin’. Let’s blow this popsicle stand, Tater Tot.”

* * *

The air in Jack’s apartment was thick with the things that nobody was saying, and the chatter surrounding Rans and Holster being a couple – instead of anything that Kent Parson had said – was driving Bitty up the wall. Everyone was talking, in low voices, but no one was really saying anything that needed to be said.

“Jack?” he said tentatively, nearly jumping when Jack answered him with a surly, “What?”

“Honey… Maybe we- um. Maybe we should call George… and plan something out. Y’know,” he said, his confidence wavering, “about a real statement for the LGBT kids out there?”

“Bittle, I already gave a statement.”

“Sure you did, honey. I know… just. You didn’t say a lot,” he said, not wanting to offend Jack.

“Don’t you dare tell me that you agree with _him_?”

Bitty was about to instinctively disagree, to point out that there was no way he agreed with Kent Parson about anything, least of all this… but then he realized that, actually, he did. He did agree with Kent. Because all those kids that Jack had been talking to when he said, ‘don’t be afraid’? Bitty was one of them. And now that he thought about it, that advice was just about the worst advice Jack could have given. Heck, if he’d outed himself back home because some sports star told him not to be afraid, he would have ended up with a lot worse than just being locked in the storage closet overnight.

“Sweetpea,” he said, avoiding directly answering Jack’s question, “you don’t have a lot to be afraid of right now… but, have you thought that maybe… maybe everyone isn’t as lucky as you? That other folks out there do have things to be scared of?” He licked his lips, which had gotten awfully dry all of a sudden, and tried not to wither under Jack’s glare. “I mean, there’s kids out there getting disowned an’ all, over being gay. And Lord knows I was bullied for it, and I wasn’t even out. Can you imagine-” Bitty cut himself off.

Jack wasn’t listening. He was grumbling about Parse showing up uninvited and ruining the party and the fun.

Jack wasn’t listening. Now, when he needed him to listen. Now, more than ever. Well then. Okay.

He put down the bowl of batter that was probably over-stirred anyway by now, and went into Jack’s room. Ignoring the chatter from the living room, and pushing himself to hurry before he lost his nerve, he shoved a pair of jeans and a couple t-shirts into a small duffle bag, along with some fresh undies and socks. Grabbing Señor Bun too, he took a deep breath and went back out, telling himself that if Jack asked what was happening, he wouldn’t go.

Jack didn’t ask.

He didn’t even look up or pause in his diatribe against Kent.

Bitty slipped out the front door quietly and into the elevator, knowing that his phone was dead and that if Kent wasn’t still here, this was about to get ten different levels of awkward.

* * *

The group made their way to the elevators, slowly thanks to Tater’s crutches, and out to the parking garage where Kent’s car was parked.

“This monster has a huge trunk, so we should be good,” Kent said, helping everyone finagle their bags in the back, and then helping Tater get situated in the front, due to his knee. He was thrilled that Tater was coming- spending time with Alexei was always the highlight of his year. And after this whatever-it-was with Zimms… Kent knew he would need Alexei’s calm and accepting presence to help bring him out of the funk he knew he would slip into later.

As he went around to the driver’s side door, there was a commotion around the back of the car, and as he turned around, he stood rooted to the spot at the sight of Jack Zimmermann’s boyfriend, holding a duffle bag and looking like a cornered rabbit.

“Hey,” he said gently, not wanting to spook him. “Everything okay, Eric?”

Zimm’s boyfriend – Eric – started. “Oh, yeah. Um… I was hoping to catch you. I mean, hoping that y’all were still here.”

“Everything… okay?” Kent asked, not sure what Eric was here for, but not wanting to leave him hanging. He probably got enough of that.

“Um, yeah,” Eric said, rubbing his neck and blushing. “Is- is there any chance y’all could drop me off at Samwell? I uh- I’m kinda-” he sighed. “I just… didn’t want to be in there anymore,” he finished, suddenly finding his shoes extremely interesting.

“Kent looked back into the car, seeing Birker and his boyfriend – Justin? Rans… Ransom? – shrug. Kent sought Tater’s gaze, which was warm and soft, and he knew what the big teddy bear was thinking. He was thinking it too. Maybe the lodge would be good for Eric. To meet other queer players, heck, other queer people. You could never have too many people in your corner.

“Eric, we can definitely do that if that’s what you want… but um, and I’m absolutely not trying to pry or push or anything,” he added, “but, the lodge definitely has room. The place is huge… if you want to come with us, you can.”

Eric looked back up, his brown eyes huge. “You- you’d invite me?”

He looked stunned at this turn of events.

“Sure,” Kent said easily. “You seem like a decent guy. And you were the only person at that party,” he knew he wouldn’t have to explain which one, Eric would know, “who asked me something about myself. Something non-hockey related,” he clarified, and considered it a win when Eric’s shoulders relaxed a bit.

“Birker, you mind scooting to the back row so Eric can join us?”

“BITS, you’ve gotta come with us!”

Eric smiled a bit more, walking forward, gripping his small bag tightly. “Can I really?” he said, and the note of hope in his voice that Eric was clearly trying to squash into dust himself was breaking Kent’s heart.

“Yeah, man. Of course. You look like you could use a vacation, and we’ve got your back, I promise.”

Eric’s eyes looked wet for a moment before he launched himself at Kent in a tight hug. Kent didn’t expect it, and had absolutely no response planned for this, but before he could attempt any, Eric had already let go and jumped in the back of the SUV, all buckled and ready to go.

All right then. Kent could roll with this. He hopped up into the driver’s seat and pulled out of the garage. “Let’s get this show on the road, gang.” This was going to be one hell of a month. But he was looking forward to how it would turn out.

* * *

 


	2. Fork in the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: there is an attempted non-con in this chapter!!!
> 
> If you need to skip over it, you should scroll down until you see the line: 
> 
> ~Call Jeff,” he said, and could have sobbed with relief when the calm female voice said, “calling Jeff.”~

* * *

_much earlier that morning_

* * *

 "Yeah. Yeah, Jeff.” Kent sighed, holding his phone in the crook of his neck as he pulled the door open, not wanting to lose his starbucks. “Yes, I will call you if I need you.”

_“Kent, I’m serious. You know what the team is like about this stuff. And- I’m sorry that I wasn’t there like you needed me to be. That’s why I’m trying to make sure I show up for you now.”_

Kent was touched, but he was also pathologically allergic to the idea of letting Swoops know this. When you let people know that they could hurt you, it was usually inevitable that sooner or later, they would hurt you.

“I know they’re not gonna be thrilled, but hey, maybe they won’t have been up at the ass crack of dawn to watch Zimm’s presser. They may not know it’s official.”

_“They saw the kiss last night though.”_

Yeah, they sure as fuck did. Kent knew that. Carl’s words had been stuck on repeat through his head all fucking night, along with all the worst things he and Jack had ever said to each other.

“Whatever… whatever happens, I’ll figure it out. And I’ll call you if I need you,” Kent said, cutting off Jeff’s protest again. “Seriously, thanks. Talk later?”

_“You’d better. If you don’t, I’m breaking into your place and kidnapping your cat until you talk to me.”_

“Okay, okay. Jeez, hit a guy’s soft spots, will ya? Ttyl, Swoops.”

Kent hung up the call, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, pausing outside the locker room. Clean out was this morning, and he wanted to look as calm and unfazed as possible, just in case someone decided to ask stupid (though not entirely inaccurate) questions. The Aces had a tradition of not cleaning out until the cup was won- enough of the guys thought it was good luck, a good omen to win the cup for themselves the next year. They’d won it three times in the last eight years, so maybe it was good for something.

He couldn’t keep stalling forever. And the sooner he went in and got everything over with, the less likely he was to run into any of his teammates he was hoping to avoid. With a last deep breath, he let his media smirk settle on his face before shouldering open the door and heading in.

“Mornin’, boys,” he said, his voice slow and easy as he walked around the giant black spade on the red carpet toward his cubby. There was music playing, but the dull buzz of chatter had died the instant he’d walked in. Kent held his breath, hoping it was just because he’d interrupted a train of thought and not anything worse. As fast as he dared, he started shoving everything into his biggest duffle, planning on sorting through what was trash and what wasn’t at home, where he was safe. It had been a while since he was this on edge in a locker room- especially his.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Natty reach over and turn off the music, and his heart sank. That couldn’t be good. He kept shoving things in his bag though, feeling the scratch of the strap on his wrist, and hearing every crinkle of paper, the stench of sweat in here more palpable than ever. He didn’t know what to do, other than to keep them seeing how scared he was. _Don’t let them know you’re scared. Don’t let them know they’re getting to you_. The old mantra from juniors ran through his head.

Without looking over his shoulder, he said, “What happen, Nats- song suddenly not doin’ it for ya?”

A soft chuckle. “Nah, not really. But y’know Parson, we’re not talking about hwat does it for me… what does it for you? That’s what we wanna know.”

Kent swallowed. “I would have thought the suicides playlist would’ve taught you that by now, dude. Britney’s my bitch.”

Sending up a mental apology to the woman whose music had gotten him through so much, Kent missed what Natty said, and only realized that something had happened when the other six guys in the locker room snickered. “What?”

Ricks grinned wolfishly. “Bitches, they never listen,” he said, rolling his eyes at Natty, who howled. “He said, whose bitch are you, Parson?”

“Yeah, isn’t that what you fags like to be called?”

Kent’s mouth went dry. He knew these guys weren’t allies, or even anything close to tolerant… but he hadn’t expected this.

“The only thing I like to be called is ‘first star of the game’,” Kent said, turning and reaching for his kneepads and game shorts. Those and his stick were all he needed, and then he’d be out of here.

Turning away was his mistake.

Before Kent even knew he was there, Carl came barreling out of the showers and grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back and slamming him against the wall, a towel hook digging into his back.

“Carl, what the fuck!”

“You don’t get to pull this shit, Parson,” he growled, his red face inches away as he towered over Kent, who was abruptly remembering that the d-man had almost half a foot on him. “You don’t get to use this locker room, to pretend you’re one of us- to _spy_ on us in the fucking showers? What, you do all this so you can get a look at real men whenever your queer ass wants?”

Kent tried to twist out, but Carl’s grip was hard enough that he would definitely bruise. Kent could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage. He hadn’t had to get out of a grip like this since he was fourteen. He was out of practice. _Don’t let them see you’re scared. Don’t let them know they’re getting to you_.

“You’re the one talking about a teammate’s ass, Carl,” he said, struggling not to cough. He could smell the alcohol on Carl’s breath and vaguely wondered if Carl had been drinking all night.

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Parson!” Carl hissed, shaking him, and Kent shut up. He had to get out of here. This was turning ugly fast. If he yelled for help, none of the guys in here were going to bother to help. They were all watching and laughing at him. The arena was huge. The odds that anyone who would help could hear him were pretty small. No, he had to get himself out of this one. But how?

Mocha and Leech were standing up now, and Mocha had a grip on his shoulder, pinning him to the wall. Natty stood up and locked the double doors before walking back over, crossing his arms over his chest.

Kent could hear his blood pounding in his ears.

“You know how we handle little fairies like you around here?” Natty said. “Tell him, Mocha.”

“We teach them lessons about where they fucking belong,” he snarled.

Leech nodded. “Carly here is gonna teach you. We might have a go too,” he said, licking his lips. “I wonder if you’re gonna cry like the little bitch you are. Are you pretty when you cry, Parson?”

Kent felt his heart stop. He knew exactly what they were hinting at, even if none of them were saying the words. No, _no_ , he was going to fight this. He had to. He had to get out of here. His phone was heavy in his pocket, and Kent could feel Swoops’ push to call him like a rock in his gut. To call him if Kent needed him. Kent needed him now, him or Scrappy, or both- but neither one was here. God, he wished he had waited for them. Maybe these assholes would still have been here, but they wouldn’t have tried this is Swoops were here… would they?

That didn’t matter right now. He had to get out of here. Kent knew he would have one shot- one shot to get past seven guys. It was one more than on the ice, but he did that all the time. He could do it.

He had to plan this out right, time it out, make sure he had a hand free to trip the lock on the door and _run_. Run as fast as he could to get out of the arena and to his car. He knew his car keys were in his pocket. He could do this, he could. He had to believe that he could, because the alternative wasn’t something he could let himself think about.

“What are you gonna do, Carl?” he said, ignoring how much his voice was shaking. He had to get Carl to say it… and then say something to distract him, something to make Carl hit him. Carl was holding him with his dominant hand, his shooting hand. If he could get Carl to punch him, he would have to let go, and then Kent could make his move and get out.

“We’re gonna show you that some gay dude doesn’t have a place on the Aces. Or in hockey, whatever Zimmermann thinks.”

Kent had a brief flash of wanting to defend Jack, out of old habit, but it passed. _Let Jack fight his own battles_ , he thought. Kent couldn’t spare energy at the moment. He needed to protect himself right now. Carl was still talking.

“We’re gonna shove that hockey stick so far up your ass, you’ll be able to score with your mouth. You’re gonna get fucked Parson, fucked so hard you won’t ever bring that queer shit within ten miles of this stadium ever again,” Carl said, grinning as Leech pushed Kent hard into the wall.

“There’s an idea,” Kent said, breathing heavily from the shove. “Hey fellas, is it gay to stick your dick in another man’s ass?”

Carl let out a yell, and sure enough, he let go of Kent to haul his arm back for a punch, and landed one, square on Kent’s face. Kent felt the left side of his face explode with pain, a white hot crunch on his cheekbone that spread out around his eye and sent his ears ringing. He had to keep his plan, had to do it. Now.

Kent grabbed the handle of his full duffle bag and swung it in an upward arc, slamming it into Carl and knocking him backwards into Leech, who hit Mocha. They all stumbled back and the others looked to them, distracted from Kent.

He snapped his legs into action, his training and instinct taking over. He ran for the door, arms outstretched to tag the door lock, and he cried out when his fingers closed around the mechanism, unlocking the door just in time for his shoulder to barrel it open.

He kept running. Out the doors, taking the turn so fast he almost hit the wall. But he didn’t, and he kept going. He ran down the hall, not stopping to even look over his shoulder to see if anyone was following. He needed every second.

Down the hall. Left, right, then right again, and out another door to the parking garage. Thank Adonai he had parked close. As he closed the distance between him and his truck, he pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door, wrenching it open the second he reached it and throwing his duffle in the front seat before pulling the door shut. His fingers shook as he shoved the key into the ignition. It took two tries to get the car started, but the engine turned over.

He peeled out of the garage faster than he ever had before, and didn’t stop until he was at least ten minutes down the road. Kent knew he was shaking, and he knew the adrenaline would wear off any second now. He had to call Swoops, he had to find a way to get somewhere safe. Somewhere the team couldn’t follow. His eyes swept the road in front of him, and he saw a McDonalds. They would have a parking lot. He could call Jeff. Jeff could come get him, take him to his apartment. Could go with him there, to make sure he was safe. Could stay with him until he could get on a plane and get out of here.

Kent pulled into a parking spot, but did not turn off the car. If he needed to drive again, he wouldn’t let himself lose a second. Triple checking to make sure all the doors were locked, he pulled out his phone. Kent tried to use his fingerprint to unlock it, but his hands were still shaking too badly. Letting out a cry of frustration, he threw his phone onto the floor before remembering his truck had Bluetooth.

“Call Jeff,” he said, and could have sobbed with relief when the calm female voice said, “ ** _calling Jeff_**.”

 _“Parse, what’s up? Done packing up alre-”_ Jeff’s voice changed abruptly. _“Kent- Kenny, what’s wrong? Talk to me, please… are you okay? What’s wrong, why are you crying? Where are you?”_

At Jeff’s words, Kent drew a shuddering breath, bringing a hand up to his face, wincing when his fingers brushed the rapidly forming bruise where Carl had punched him. At least it had only been a punch. Kent shook all over thinking about just how close he had come to it being more.

“I’m- I’m okay,” he said. “Well, no. No, I’m really not,” Kent said. “I mean, I’m not at the arena anymore. I- I got away… but Swoops, I-”

_“You got away from what? What did those fuckers do?”_

Kent forced himself to take a deep breath. “Jeff, I’ll- I don’t want to talk about- I mean, I’ll tell you, I just… I don’t want to talk about it without you here… Will- will you come get me?” Kent could hear how much his voice was shaking, and how needy he sounded, but when Jeff agreed, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He told Jeff what intersection he was at, and promised to call if he had to leave, to go somewhere else. It was going to be okay soon, though… Jeff was coming, and Jeff would help him.

It was less than ten minutes before Jeff arrived, and Kent looked around before unlocking the door for him.

“Kent, what-” the protest at the duffle in the front seat died on Jeff’s lips when he got a look at Kent. He knew he must have looked awful, but he didn’t care. Jeff was here. It was okay now.

Jeff tried to climb awkwardly into the truck, but couldn’t get around Kent’s duffle. He eventually yanked it from the front seat, and tossed it in the back before climbing in and opening his arms, which Kent nearly fell into, grateful beyond words that Jeff was here, that Jeff was his friend.

Jeff held him while he shook, and didn’t say a word about the tears running down his cheeks and wetting his shirt. Jeff just softly rubbed his back and smoothed his hair and let him shudder and sob, until Kent finally pulled back with a shaky breath.

“Thanks, man,” Kent sniffed, scrubbing a hand across his eyes.

“You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” Jeff said quietly, “but Kent… what happened? You uh…” Jeff rubbed the back of his neck. “You- you look pretty shaken up. Is there- is there anything I can do to help?”

Kent blew out a stream of air, pursing his lips like his therapist taught him, focusing on the action to keep him grounded while remembering to breathe in and out without hyperventilating.

“You’re already helping, seriously.” Kent ran his hands through his hair – his snapback must still be in the locker room, or maybe he’d lost it while running to his car, either way he sure as fuck wasn’t going to go back for it – and sighed. “I just. I should have waited for you, Swoops. They wouldn’t’ve-”

“They wouldn’t have what, Kent?” Jeff’s voice was gentle, but his brows were furrowed, and he had the same look on his face now that he did whenever Kent got checked into the boards- like he wanted to absolutely flat out murder whoever had made Kent hurt. It was that, Kent thought, which was keeping him in the moment more than anything else. Proof that someone on his team wouldn’t have hurt him.

He gingerly touched his face, wincing when his fingers found what would surely be a spectacular shiner in a matter of hours.

“Who hit you?”

“Carl,” Kent sighed. At Swoops’ look out outrage, he held up his hands. “Trust me, I would rather he punched me than what he wanted to do instead.”

Jeff looked confused for a minute, and then as he connected the dots, the anger on his face melted into horrified disgust. “Those absolute fuckstains,” he said, his voice low. Kent watched Swoops curl his fingers into fists, and then with a very concerted effort, uncurl them and soften his face. “Kenny, what do you want to do? Whatever you want, I’m behind you on it. If you want to report them, go to the police… whatever you want. Anything, I’m here, okay?”

Kent almost started crying again, at the knowledge that Swoops would do that for him. “Jeff, that means more than you know. But seriously, the league has still doubled down to protect the guys who pulled this shit with women… do you really think they’d suddenly change their tune and become advocates for my sake?”

Jeff almost hit the dashboard, but he stopped himself, clearly noticing that Kent would not have responded well to violence right now. “Shit, you’re probably right. But seriously, Kent. Whatever you decide to do, whatever you want _me_ to do… I’ll do it, okay?”

Kent let out a soft chuckle, wishing he could rewind time. He couldn’t do that, but there were a few things he could do. “Take me home?” he asked. “Help me get my luggage, and help me get to the airport? I uh, I have my vacation plans. And I’m not about to let fucking Carl take that from me,” he added, working to tell himself that as much as he was telling Swoops.

Swoops smiled softly. “Going to the lodge?”

Kent nodded.

“Awesome. Tell everyone I said hi, will ya?”

Kent nodded again, suddenly feeling much more exhausted. Now that Swoops was here, and he felt much safer, the adrenaline was definitely wearing off, and Kent could feel himself beginning to drop like a rock. “Um… Jeff. Can you drive?”

“Sure, buddy.”

* * *

 

Kent had still been on time for his flight, thanks to packing the night before, and thanks to Swoops ignoring roughly a third of Vegas traffic laws to get him to the airport as fast as possible. And now, here he was, driving the rental truck, and on his way to his favorite place in the world.

With three more people than he’d originally planned… one of whom was Zimm’s boyfriend. Which- was definitely unexpected. But hey, Eric coming wasn’t breaking any of the lodge rules. He was still queer – which was rule numero uno. He also played hockey, which was the second rule, though unofficial. This could be okay.

Kent thumbed open his phone and passed it back to Adam. “Hey, could you go into the group chat and let them know it’s you- and that I’m bringing stowaways?” he said, “I just don’t want everyone to be surprised.”

* * *

Bitty sat somewhat stiffly in the middle row of the SUV, occasionally eyeing the one empty seat left – the one next to him – while trying to process seventeen different things at the same time. Ransom and Holster were dating? And they hadn’t told him… but. They were dating. Each other. Which meant that neither of them were straight, like he’d thought. Like he’d _assumed_.

There was still another person coming along on this car ride – that Bitty had no idea how long it was going to be, or even where they were going – another person he didn’t know. What if it was a big hockey dude who was absolutely not okay with Jack Zimmermann’s twink boyfriend coming along? Still, Kent had invited Holster to whatever this thing was… and then had invited Rans too, literally as soon as he’d realized they were a couple. So… hopefully whoever this person was wouldn’t be a homophobe.

Then of course, there was the fact that Kent had gone and invited _him_. Bitty was still reeling on this one.

Before this afternoon, even if he had entertained the idea of Kent Parson inviting him anywhere, he never would have thought he would ever take actually take him up on it. Bitty had only asked for a ride back to Samwell, and he was still having trouble that Kent had really asked him to come along – and it was only running his fingers over the soft beige fabric in the car that was reminding him of his acceptance.

Bitty was steadfastly ignoring the part of this situation that was him stuffing clothes in a bag and walking out of Jack’s apartment. He was also ignoring the part where Jack hadn’t stopped him. Or even noticed that he was walking out the door. Bitty could feel the outline of his phone in his jeans pocket, but knew that it was completely out of juice, so even if Jack was texting him to ask where he was, it’s not like he would know.

“-Yo, earth to Bits,” said Holster, nudging his shoulder.

“Oh!” Bitty said, startled out of his spiraling throughts. “Sorry… what’d I miss?”

Kent just chuckled. “’S’okay, I get lost in thought too. Unfamiliar territory for me,” he said, and Bitty was surprised to see the self-depricating shrug and lightness in his expression.

“What was the question?”

“You ever been up to the Adirondacks?”

“The mountains up in New York?” Bitty asked. “No, can’t say I have. How come you’re asking?”

Kent smiled. “That’s where we’re headed. With a quick pit stop in Hartford,” he amended. “Gotta pick up Riles. Friend of ours,” he said. “That’s everyone I think… everyone else is at the lodge already.”

Tater turned around a bit in the front seat and smiled warmly at him, making Bitty feel a bit more at ease. “Riles is good person, B. Promise. Oh,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Riles use they and them pronouns, instead of he or she. Nonbinary, you know?”

Bitty wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but he definitely didn’t want to ask when everyone else in the car seemed to know instantly what that meant. Surprisingly, Kent was the one who came to his rescue.

“Yeah, over the last few years, Riles hasn’t really felt like a girl or a guy… they know their gender isn’t either one of those things, but they’re still not totally sure what it is? So nonbinary is a good sorta catch-all that works for that.”

Bitty wasn’t sure he understood that… but he did understand being made to feel shitty for how others wanted you to see yourself. He could wrap his head around that part. “I’ve- I’ve never used those pronouns for someone before,” he said shyly. “But I’ll do my best to remember.”

Holster clapped his shoulder. “That’s the best way, bro.” He knocked on the windows. “I thought Riles lived in West Virginia?”

“They do,” Tater said. “Here to visit sister, and grandma, I think.”

Kent nodded. “Yup. And hopefully bringing some of Nana Williamson’s snickerdoodles.”

Tater laughed, and patted his belly. “Yes, please. Is too long since I’m have them last.”

A while later, they turned off the highway and Bitty saw the streets of Hartford passing by, and city buildings transitioning into the pretty and charming streets of colonial houses that were so common in the northeast. Down a few more streets and a cul-de-sac, Kent turned the SUV into a big, three-car driveway.

“I’ll go, y’all can stay in the car. Enjoy the AC,” he said, ruffling Tater’s hair, who smiled under the attention.

“Y’all,” Ransom and Holster chirped at the same time, trading fistbumps.

“Ha fucking ha,” Kent said, but he was still grinning. “It’s a great gender neutral word for people, even if you all are a bunch of losers.”

Bitty tried not to fidget in his seat. He wanted this to go well, wanted Riles to like him. He didn’t want to screw this up. Bitty almost wished his phone wasn’t dead, so that he could google when the next train from Hartford to Boston was, and then hop a bus back to Samwell. But, if his phone wasn’t dead, then Jack would have probably called by now, and that was absolutely not a conversation he wanted to have.

It felt like much longer than the ten minutes it actually took for Kent and Riles to come down the big steps on the front porch. Bitty looked out his window, and saw someone who didn’t look all that much different from most of the big hockey dudes he’d seen in his life. Riles had sandy brown hair, long enough to be tied up in a bun behind his – their, he had to get used to that – head. And he couldn’t be sure, but Bitty thought it looked like Riles had painted fingernails, glinting and glittering in the sun.

He jumped when the trunk popped open and he heard the two of them jabbering about something Nana Williamson had said.

“So,” Riles said, “You’re Birker?”

Holster grinned. “Guilty as charged. Though, Holster or Adam works too.”

“Kenny’s told me about you. Said you were great to play with. And that your mom’s matzo ball recipe is worth going kosher for.”

Holster grinned. “Anything my mom makes is worth that. Anywho, this is my boo, Justin.”

Bitty was quiet as the introductions were made, trying not to bite his lip or wring his hands, or fuss with his bag, which he was holding onto tightly in an effort to keep his hands from shaking.

Eventually, Riles closed the trunk and came around to get in. When Riles opened the door and saw him, their eyes went wide, though they still climbed in and buckled.

“I’m Eric,” Bitty said, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking. “My team calls me Bitty… you can, if you want to,” he said, surprised when Riles did take his hand.

“I know your face, even if I don’t know you,” they said. “To be honest, most of the NHL probably knows your face by now. You’re…” Riles paused, biting their lip before continuing. “You’re with Zimmermann, right? That kiss was… uh, well. It was something, all right.”

“Yeah,” Bitty said, feeling the deep irony of the way Riles had phrased, ‘with Zimmermann’, even though Bitty had walked out of the apartment without telling Jack he was leaving or even knowing where he was going. “I, um. I-” he bit his lip.

Riles looked at him, long and hard, his gaze unbreaking as Kent drove them back to the highway. Bitty wasn’t sure what they saw or what they were looking for, but after a minute or so, Riles nodded. “I’m guessing you have some complicated feelings about Zimmermann right now?”

“No,” Bitty was quick to defend, but then, he pulled back. “Well, I mean.” He rubbed his neck, eyes shifting to the window, Tater, then Kent, and then the floor before looking at Riles again. “Maybe? I guess… I might. I’m not sure. I- I suppose it is sorta complicated.”

Riles smiled now, holding out a fist, which Bitty bumped in a daze.

“Don’t we all. Hey, having complicated feelings is part of being queer.”

“Hear, hear,” Ransom said seriously.

Bitty smiled nervously. “Are… is everyone in the car,” he hesitated, having not used the word often before, “queer?”

Tater clapped, whooping. “Kenny’s drive the queer-mobile all the way to lodge, HAHA!”

As everyone laughed around them, Riles nodded, giving Bitty a look that seemed to reach deep inside his soul.

“If you need a place to think about where the relationship is headed, or how you feel like you’re treated,” they said, “or even just to talk about queer shit with other queer folks… the lodge is a good place for that.”

Bitty felt his hackles rise on instinct. “What makes you think I need to talk about the future of my relationship or how Jack makes me feel?”

Riles just sighed, somehow arching an eyebrow and giving Bitty a comisertating smile at the same time.

“You’re here, aren’t you? And Zimmermann isn’t. I know Kent didn’t invite him, but he did invite you.” Riles shrugged. “And… you’re in the car. You came. That kinda says something… don’t you think?”

Well, then. Bitty supposed it did.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to the Posse and the Salt Mine for inspiration and help and putting up with me for this fic.... it's probs gonna be a monster like my other ones. I love you ALL.


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